


Mine

by DovaBunny



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Everyone else is hers tho, Gangs and crime syndicates, Hawke is TOTALLY innocent, I should be taking this more seriously..., Isabela's nobody's bitch tho..., M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of abuse and torture, Merril is cute and scary, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison AU, Totally, gang wars and prison bitches, it's a prison au full of criminals - what did you expect?, shit's messed up man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovaBunny/pseuds/DovaBunny
Summary: “There can be no peace. There can be no compromise. Justice couldn’t speak for itself – so I did. Loud enough to finally be heard.”That was the defense of the man who blew up the Vatican and killed the Pope, spearheading a worldwide Mage rebellion and revolution, gave the International Criminal Court as the world looked on.But who was this man? A mage rights extremist? A terrorist? A mad man? Fenris cared little for what other called him or what they said. For Fenris, he was "mine".ORFenris saves the notorious terrorist and fellow inmate Anders, and decides he'd like to keep him. Hawke dreams of escape while Zevran and Isabella try to guess the colour of prison warden Cullen's underwear, Varric is the shady prison librarian who bribes Fenris with comic books, and Bull makes inappropriate shower-soap -related jokes. When they find out new brother-in-chains Anders is a former demolition expert and escape artist from the vigilante gang, the Grey Wardens, they see a ticket to freedom.Fenris is not so keen on sharing though.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... this is my first Dragon Age fanfic. I am SUPER open to comments, suggestions, and critique! I am a criminologist, dabbling in organized crime and gangs, with an interest in prison dynamics, so this is mixing business and pleasure! Or that's what I'm telling myself. 
> 
> Have fun and be safe.

“Anders. You stand before this ICC grand jury, accused of the worst crimes in recent history. Your charges read as theft, trespassing, murder, attempted murder, the assembly- and possession of illegal explosives, and terrorism of the highest order. Your meticulous planning, preparing, planting and detonating of the series of bombs that resulted in the destruction of the Vatican, the death of the Pope, as well as the deaths of over 600 others.”

The International Criminal Court hummed in a buzz of murmurs, questions, curses, gasps, and cries. A wall of flashing lights from a magnitude of cameras went off like fireworks, nearly blinding, save for the silhouette of a man; his head hung low atop his tall frame, wrists, and ankles in heavy chains.   

“Your crimes have had such far-reaching consequences that the international outcry has led to the assembly of this court. Anders, because of you, hundreds are dead, thousands are terrorized, millions are in mourning, and priceless, sacred buildings and artifacts have been lost. I need not further emphasize the weight of these charges.

So tell us, Anders, in the face of these charges – what is your defense?”

The eyes of the world, whether in the room or through the near countless cameras, surrounded by world leaders, turned to the silhouette on trial.

Slowly, a heavy head was raised for dull, but determined eyes to meet the panel before him. Long, dirty blond hair swept back as he raised his chin and broad shoulders defiantly.

He spoke slowly, clearly, powerfully.

**“My name is Anders Lucas Bauer. I am a mage. I was taken from my family at the age of 12 and brought to the Vatican where I spent my childhood, as the International Treaty on Mages of 1783 dictates.”**

At this point, from his periphery vision he could see the occupants of the Pope’s private gallery squirm, high ranking members of the order and Vatican no doubt. He could see the Cardinal, the late Pope’s second in command who lead the Jury’s face flash in unease. She did not remember him. Yet.

“In the seven years I was here, I was abused, burned, raped, molested, trafficked across Europe – only to be brought back every time I escaped. I had it easy, compared to the other young mages kept here under the prpretensef protection and guidance.”

The courtroom murmured and shuffled uncomfortably. A change in the tension of the room could be felt. The media had portrayed the offender as a wild man, an extremist and a terrorist with no valid motivation. However, over recent years the rise of rumours of abuse, numbers of Tranquil, and the disappearances of inquiries into missing mages had started to capture the public attention. Tranquil and dead mages have appeared in military uniforms across the world without explanation. Blood mages and abominations have burst out of cartels, brothels, slave rings, and research facilities. The FBI and MI6 have argued that it was proof that mages were dangerous and needed to be removed from society. Governments worldwide agreed.

 Many have speculated that all is not as it seemed, some even demanding the UN investigate – but of course nothing had come of it.

**“There can be no peace. There can be no compromise. Justice couldn’t speak for itself – so I did. Loud enough to finally be heard.”**

The defence’s chambers’ door slammed open, and a string of professional looking men and women walked out in a line carrying files. Each file had a name and a photo of a child’s face on, looking more like a mugshot than anything else. The files were placed on the long table in front of the jury.

As they kept coming, the accused’s lawyer stood.

“Grand Jury. Karl Thekla for the defence. I submit, for your consideration, the case files of 358 young mages – abused, trafficked, sold, tortured, missing. Every one of them prematurely closed without reason, and files claimed from the law enforcement by the Vatican as under its jurisdiction as ‘internal affairs’. Tell me, Cardinal Meredith, can you read the name on the file I hold in my hand?”

“A- Anders.”

“That is the name you gave the young Lucas when he was first brought here from the Anderfels as he didn’t speak the language. Correct me if I’m wrong. And you recognize his likeness from the photo on the cover, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Anders had already informed the court of the injustices he suffered, which he feels pales in comparison to the other 357 cases we will be addressing in depth during this trial, so I will not repeat them at this point. On the first page of his file is an urgent letter of seize and desist, demanding the investigation close and the file be handed over immediately. Tell me, Cardinal Meredith, who’s stamp and name is at the bottom of the letter?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at the letter, then visibly paled.

“Cardinal?”

“Mine.”

The court erupted around him. Cameras flashed in the face of the stoic, steel-eyed blond man staring down the now paled Cardinal that held an expression of panicked recognition as she looked upon the man on the podium in the centre of the courtroom. Her lavish, extravagant clothes, baubles, and golden throne suddenly seemed too large as her cold blue eyes went wide and she pushed back into the seat, before it steeled in barely contained rage. The Pope’s gallery quickly emptied as journalists called out to them.

The jury tried to call for order, appeal to the courtroom for calm – but there could be no peace.

 

____________________________

_One year, 6 months later - Kirkwall Max Security Prison_

 

“You coming Broody?”

Fenris’ intense emerald green eyes peered over his comic book at the dwarf shrugging on his trademark leather jacket. It seemed strange to many that a prison’s librarian could afford such fine tastes in clothes and gadgets as Varric sported. The dwarf had confided in Fenris once that he was actually a best-selling novelist, writing under a pseudo name, making millions by drawing inspiration from his workplace and the stories he somehow always managed to draw out of even the most closed-off, brutish of inmates.

Fenris would’ve suspected magic if Varric weren’t a dwarf. Though he’s not putting it past the smart, shady bastard completely. He _was_ friends with a blood mage.

Fenris gave a noncommittal shrug and grunt

“Aww c’mon Broody, it’s the event of the year! This place can use some excitement. You know, besides the business-as-usual turf wars, Bull trying to come up with new jokes surrounding ‘dropping, ‘soap’, and ‘shower’, and Isabella trying to guess the colour of warden Cullen’s underwear.” Varric was all warm smiles as he stood from his typewriter in the corner, his desk littered with too many pages torn from note books and colourful stick-notes. “Besides, you know how Hawke and I love to watch you scare the new guys shitless when they recognize who you are!”

“Hmf. My live has had enough ‘excitement’.”

Fenris wasn’t much for talk, Varric knew as much. Most of their conversations was Fenris half-listening as the chatty dwarf went on. In Varric’s defence, Fenris was the only inmate who ever visited the library – and visit he did! Spent every minute not in his cell or the dining hall here, only occasionally leaving to get some exercise in the yard.

 Varric gave him a friendly, sad smile. “Suit yourself Broody. If you change your mind, I’ll be handing around Hawke’s.”

Varric knew more than he let on – about Fenris too. The dwarf seemingly had contacts and informants across the globe and could probably find out what the President of Orlais had for breakfast with a phone call. Fenris wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

But the elf had nothing to hide. As long as he had his spot in the library, the rest of the world could hang for all he cared.

‘His’ spot. Funny thought, that.

Fenris had never truly ‘owned’ anything. Slaves had no right to own things, neither did meat-shield bodyguards, cage-fighting animals, or murderous monsters… And Fenris, well, he was all those things.

He never fully escaped his chains – just exchanged them for less-rusted ones, his armour for orange overalls branded with ‘Kirkwall Max Security’.

Nicknamed ‘the Gallows’, this prison fortress on a rock in the middle of the sea was where the baddest of the bad were locked up and forgotten – and as far as anyone here was concerned, Fenris, ‘the last Vint’, was the worst.

But he was content, or, as content as can be he supposes, sitting in his little corner of the prison’s library. He liked the calm and warmth of the library – the comfortable chairs, the mahogany, the smell of the books…

This was all the peace and freedom he had ever sought in his short, messed-up life. Peace that ended once he stepped out again.

As with all high security prisons, the Gallows was rife with gangs and turf wars. Fenris, however, had no interest in establishing a ‘gang’ as the brutes here called it; a mockery of the organized syndicates he was used to. He could care less who stabbed who this week, or who was on who’s patch of dirt in the yard. In fact, Fenris was the only inmate not in a gang – and no one had balls big enough to try and claim him.

The tattoos that covered just about every inch of his sculpted, muscular body was well known to belong to the Tevinter’s most prized and dangerous. The Tevinter, or ‘Vints’ for short, were a small group of powerful magister families, along with their incredibly dangerous pets and paramours.

The Vints were the heads of the Imperium, easily the world’s most organized, powerful, and dangerous crime syndicate. They were intelligent, brutal, fearless, cruel, and heartless. Their reputation well known, and their name sent shudders through the underground crime world.

Without opposition and with governments in their pockets, the Imperium monopolized the legal and illicit markets of drugs, slaves, guns and ammunition, prostitution and pornography, and fighting rings (animal, human, and anything in-between).

 It was in the latter that Fenris first made his name; bred and enhanced through his lyrium tattoos to be an unstoppable force that was beyond nature. His mindless loyalty, obedience, striking features, and deadliness earned him a spot as the personal guard to Danarius – the head of the Vints.  

And Fenris was the last one.

Because he was done with being told who he was.

Fenris was finally his own. Even in this prison, even with being told when to eat and sleep, Fenris finally felt like he was his own man.

And he wasn’t going to give that up ever again.


	2. Claims and Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Yipeee!
> 
> I'm stoked that people are interested in this story! Not gonna lie, feeling a little inadequate and overwhelmed - but Imma try my best! I'm thinking having smaller chapters more regularly rather than the longer ones further apart (lemme know if you disagree).

Fenris watched Varric leave, the librarian catching his eye with a pleading look a last time just as the door closed. Fenris just scoffed and returned to his Batman comic.

But the images swam in his vision, his mind on the excitement in the yard. He didn’t like crowds, he didn’t like people to be frank, and liked it even less to be told what to do – but he was curious.

With a heavy sigh he put his comic down on the coffee table, gently slipping the bookmark in that Varric gave him. His spot in the cozy little library was a small sitting area in the furthest corner of the room with a comfy two-seater, a coffee table, and two single-seaters shielded by one of the big mahogany book shelves that divided the room up into sections. Here and there were a scatter of small tables and chairs, left untouched.  The carpet was soft and dark red, and the large windows looked out over the endless waters below the tower.

Big windows were already a rarity in this fortress of a prison, and Fenris like the idea that barely no one else knew about the library – or bothered to come here. On stormy days, he could easily sit and stare at the dark menacing clouds and restless waters for hours.

Sighing heavily, he got up and made his way towards the exit.

 

_This is wrong…_

Fenris should shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach as he watched a platoon of guards parading (fucking _parading_ ) the prisoner around like a prize. It was too familiar for the elf, and he could feel his nails digging into his hands as they clenched.

But that wasn’t what irked him most – something about the prisoner seemed…off.

He stood in a shadowed corner watching the spectacle. The Yard was the open area in the middle of the tower’s courtyard. It was mostly dirty concrete, scattered tables and chairs all bolted down, with some haphazardly thrown-together exercise equipment – all also bolted down – next to a neglected basketball court.

Hawke’s crew had left their turf to come watch all sitting at their usual table when they’re in the yard, Varric having taken his seat next to Garrett. He could see the pained looks on their faces. It was a small comfort to know they also didn’t like what was going on – you know, for a bunch of criminals to think something is uncool – you KNOW it’s pretty uncool.

Sebastian’s gang, the Chantry, however, looked way too pleased for his liking, almost like their mouths were watering at the display.

Fenris turned back to really scrutinize the new inmate. Long, dirty blond hair hung in strings over his shoulders, obscuring most of his face, but even so he could see his mouth was slack. He had to be dragged and was still in unnecessarily heavy chains on his ankles wrists, waist, and neck that his thin, frail frame probably couldn’t even move on its own even if he wanted to. His head kept lolling to the left, and although his movement were somewhat reminiscent of a drunkard, the little erratic jerks of muscle implied that was not the case, almost like.

He knew those signs. He’s seen them many times before, he’d been ordered to cause those signs, then having to stand and watch as the Vints laughed and toyed with their prey.

But… that was illegal?

In front of the man is officer Alrik, looking proud and disgustingly smug. Behind him dragging the man along were the officers Alrik always surrounded himself with. Even though wardens Aveline and Cullen were those in charge, being on international waters meant the prison was not bound by any laws or regulations and ran internally.

Fenris shot a glance to Aveline and her second, officer Donnic, who stood away from the excitement in the doorway to the offices. Donnic looked uncomfortable, and Aveline strained. Besides Varric, officer Donnic was probably the only other person Fenris saw as an true ally. They often played Diamondback after lights-out as Fenris had trouble sleeping and Donnic had the night watches on his floor. They had a similar quiet demeanour and could play for hours in compatible silence.  

“Do you know who this man is, inmates?” Alrik’s voice dropped heavily over them. “This is the face of true depravity! The murderer who puts anyone else in here to shame with his criminal past.”

They had all heard the rumours, about the infamous rebel mage terrorist, the extremist revolutionary who blew up the Vatican, killed the Pope, and started the worldwide Mage rebellion or -revolution. Which of the two depended on who you asked. He was supposedly being held in the feared solitary cells below the Gallows for a year. People seemed to have forgotten about his ghostly presence at the prison, even though no one ever even saw him being brought in, till today.

Varric, of course, smelled a story all over the scandal and kept up to date with every bit of the trial and aftermath. The Vatican had tried to shut down the Pandora’s box the case had opened, pushing feverishly for the death-penalty, but in light of the evidence of abuse at the hands of the church that the accused’s defence put before the ICC, the UN stepped in and oversaw the remainder of the trail.

Altogether 677 priests and nuns were identified, tried, and found guilty, including late Cardinal Meredith who had committed suicide when the arrests started. Mages, young and old, were relocated to UN displacement camps, while the hundreds still missing were being searched for by Interpol.

Various government dignitaries’ involvement also came to light, especially in the military, but also in the trade of mages in the black market. No one could’ve predicted how far and deep the abuse of mages under the church went. It truly was the crime that shook the world.

Of course, there were still those loyal to the now- discredited and largely disbanded Roman Catholic church who felt the man deserved nothing but death. Judging by the way Sebastian’s Chantry boys were looking at the inmate, and Alrik’s smiles to them, he’d wager there were some of those right here in this yard.

“Have fun.” Alrik adds as he snaps his fingers without looking back. His men step up and unchain the man who immediately drops like a ragdoll on the spot without even putting his arms out.

“Shit man,” Fenris hears Bull whisper to the Chargers, “I heard solitary messes you up – never thought it’d look that bad. Poor dude.”

Fenris looks at them incredulously – is that what people think is wrong here? That his state is due to his punishment? The elf scans the crowds, and surely, many expressions mimic Bull, Donnic, and Garrett’s.

Alrik flashes Sebastian and knowing smile as he extracts his men and head back out into the offices. The metaphor of being ‘thrown to the wolves’ comes to mind. Sebastian looks over his shoulders, his blue eyes swimming in vile excitement and his smile predatory as he starts towards the pile of a man in the centre of the yard.

_No_.

Fenris cares little for mages, even less for politics, but this is wrong – he feels it heavy in his gut.

“Oh, we are going to have some fun alright,” Sebastian says as he reaches for man’s hair, grabbing it in a painfully tight grasp to yank it up. The limp man doesn’t even flinch at being pulled by his hair so. Sebastian’s arms, like that of his fellow Chantry mates, are covered in verses, depictions of the cross and the church. “We’re going to make sure out new friend here feels welcomed, aren’t we bo-“

Before he can continue Fenris is there in a flash, his lyrium tattoos pulsing dimly as he grabs Sebastian’s wrist in a bone-crushing grip.

“Let. Him. Go.” Fenris grits out, his big green eyes, partially curtained by stark white hair somehow staring down the taller man. The picture of controlled power and intimidation, Fenris knew the role well.

Fenris sees him flinch. The elf was a big of an enigma to other inmates. He never involved himself with prisoner affairs or gangs, refused to take a bitch, join or form a gang, and hardly ever speaks to anyone.

The entire yard is on edge, the tension thick in the air as Fenris feels every eye on him.

He can faintly hear the crackle of a tazer gun, followed by the command to step down from Aveilne to whichever guard had pulled he gun.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Hawke’s table on their feet.

Sebastian regains his composure and stares down his nose at Fenris, “he has already been claimed by us, this is none of your business, Vint,” he spits out the last word as if it were vile.

“And now I clam him. If you want him, you can challenge me for him.” He twists his grip on Sebastian's wrist slightly, feeling the bone knock together as the man flinches and released the blond hair. Wrist still firmly grasped, Fenris effortlessly pushes Sebastian a step back, coming to stand protectively with his feet planted on either side of the blond man's on the floor.

A tense mixture of gasps, uncomfortable shuffles and murmurs echo around them; some scared, some curious to see the Vint in action, and some wanting Sebastian’s face rearranged. Fenris cares little for their opinions, his eyes are trained on the man before him, making it clear he was not backing down.

The man, who seems to be wavering in his confidence.

His reputation is in part thanks to Isabela, the ‘Black Market Queen’, who recognized Fenris as the underworld’s undefeated cage fighting champion. Fenris didn’t want to think how she knew that. Inmates knew taking him on in hand-to-hand would be suicide, so they stayed away.

Sebastian, apparently, had also heard it.

The man’s lip curled into a snarl as he clenched his jaw, lowering his shoulders in defeat. Fenris let go of his arm.

Sebastian looked down at the pile of man in disgust while rubbing his crushed wrist and looked like he was about to spit on him when his eyes flit to intense green ones, and he thought better of it. The blond was Fenris’ now, and it’d be foolish to insult his property.

He slowly turned and walked back to his men, muttering someone Fenris’ elf ears picked up as ‘this isn’t over’ before he leads them off back to their turf at the docks.

Satisfied with their retreat, Fenris turns back to the man on the floor. He’ll need to get a proper look at the man, but he’d be damned if he was going to let the helpless blond be subjected to an audience – he’d been made enough of a spectacle today.

Without further hesitation he ducks down and gathers the taller man into his arms, lifting him effortlessly, before walking off, leaving the yard in shocked, disbelieving silence. He never once made eye contact with anyone else.

 

“Magebane.”

“What?”

“It’s Magebane. I’ve seen enough of it in the Imperium, I’d recognize it anywhere.”

“Shit Broody… Isn’t that stuff illegal?”

“Very.”

Fenris has the limp man laid out on his couch, long legs over the armrest, his head propped up with the three scatter cushions.

As a bodyguard, Fenris also knew first aid and basic medical care. He carefully checked the man’s vitals – pupils dilated and unresponsive, heart rate erratic, muscles lax but twitching, tongue swollen, excessive drooling.

“Fenris!” Aveline’s booming voice bursts into the room as the door slams open,   
“What is the meaning of this?” Her brows are knitted as she makes her way over to where Fenris and Varric stood. “I’ve never had any issue you, gave you as much freedom and liberties as you wanted, and this is how you repa-”

“Who had access to the mage?” Fenris cut her off, unflinching to her rage.

“Wha- what?” the warden wasn’t used to being interrupted.

“The mage, while in solitary till now, who had access to him?”

“Alrik’s men cover the solitary cells and sick booth on the lower levels.” She responds cautiously, “why?”

Varric curses under his breath, shaking his head as Fenris turns back to kneel next to the man, studying his face. Despite the poison’s effects, the man’s face seemed at peace, innocent almost.

It calmed the elf somewhat, although he had no understanding of why or how.

“The mage has been poisoned. Magebane. By my estimate, it’s been on-going for months.” He bet it had something to do with whatever apparent agreement there was between Alrik and the Chantry.

“That’s impossible! Magebane has been outlawed since the 1600s.” Aveline said defensively.

Varric tapped his chin a few times, then spun around to a bookshelf. His fingers ran over the spines and he pulled one down, flipping through it as he re-joined the warden and the elf.

“Ah, Magebane – origins of ancient middle-east, strong potion that causes Mage’s to be cut off from their magic, yadda-yadda... later inspired the Tranquil solution… jikes… errr…. Here we go! Symptoms: disorientation, no magic, potential nausea. Prolonged intake is very dangerous, potentially lethal. Signs of prolonged abuse include cardiac abnormalities, damage to the nervous system, becoming paralyzed, loss of bodily functions… Shit Red, it seems like Broody here might be right.”

“But, the Gallows has anti-magic runes on every level. Why would Magebane even be necessary?”

“To have the effect it did. You all thought he had just lost his mind in solitary, did you not? He can also not speak, not think, not fight back…” he gave Aveline a meaningful look and saw her shudder at the implications.

“We need to get him to the sick booth, Orsino will know what to do.”

“No.” Fenris said firmly, turning his attention back to the gentle face that made him feel so strangely at ease, “he is not safe there. I can care for him. The Imperium used Magebane often to enslave or punish mages, I know what to do.”

Varric and Aveline exchanged a look then slowly turned back to the rumoured notoriously murderous and heartless elf kneeling next to the unconscious man, gently tucking a lock of dirty blond hair behind his ear like he was made of glass.

“Very well, Varric – make sure Fenris gets everything he needs. You have my clearance. I will attend Alrik personally.”

“You got’it boss!” the dwarf turns back to Fenris as a very determined Aveline storms out, "What do you need Broody?"

He assesses the situation for a moment. "I'll need a cot from the sick bay, the couch will only hurt his back. Then I need towels, warm water, a bed pan, Elfroot extract, health potions and lyrium potions."

Varric finishes writing down the last item on a notepad he pulled from...somewhere, nodding along. "Got it and on it!" the turns to dash out but abruptly stops in the doorway. Fenris raises and eyebrow as the dwarf turns back to him with a kind smile, "you know Broody, you most probably saved Blondie's life today. He may not know it yet, but you're his hero," at that his grin broadens to a full, warm smile, "I always knew you were one of the good guys." With that, he's gone. 

Fenris blinks at the closed doors a few times. _A hero?_  Fenris had been called many things: animal, murderer, heartless, beast, slave, pet, dangerous... 'hero', 'good guy'... those were labels he never thought he'd be offered. Like- like the superheroes in his comic books... He like the thought of that. 

He looks back at the blond man's face; so vulnerable yet so peaceful, trusting that whoever is watching over him will protect him. A trust that has been abused for far too long. 

"No one will harm you," he whispers gently to the unconscious man, "I will keep you safe, I swear this to you." 

This man is now his responsibility, he had claimed hin before the Maker and all the inmates. Fenris had never really 'owned' anything, he had thought of just that earlier today, about how slaves and pets were themselves property and had no right to own anything.  

But Fenris was his own man now. That old life was dead and gone - he made sure of that.  

Fierce determination and purpose settle in his chest.

"You are mine, and I will protect what is mine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not - I actually kinda like Sebastian. But I needed a religious extremist gang, and he fit the bill. 
> 
> I have no Beta and I'm second-language English, so do pretend you didn't see those typos that I'm sure are still there after my editing! Please and thank you. 
> 
> Do let me know if you have any ideas, suggestions, or just thoughts! I'd love to hear them.
> 
> Next chapter: Anders awakes to a very different world than the one he remembers. And who is this hot elf glaring at him?

**Author's Note:**

> Hate it? Love it? Feel like I just wasted 17 minutes you'll never get back?
> 
> Let me know what you think! PLEASE! 
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr and yell at me there: dovabunny.tumblr.com. Warning tho - I post like 97% Fenders. #SorryNotSorry
> 
> Next chapter - Fenris meets the new guy and seems to be the only one that can see something is not right.


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